


one in every basket

by FcrestNymph



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FcrestNymph/pseuds/FcrestNymph





	one in every basket

His gaze is bright blue, sparkling like gemstones, as sharp as a diamond's edge. Both his golden hair and his upper lip has a curl to it, one beautiful, one not. He leans back in his chair, his shoes on a desk. He stares at his phone, his thumb swiping left every time he sees buck teeth, every time he sees frizzy hair. He has no eye for things less perfect than himself. All eyes are on him, and he knows it, he _needs_ it. The attention makes him who he is. Without it, what is he, other than a face in the crowd?

The colour of her fiery hair is nothing compared to the flames flickering behind her eyes. She snarls, her face twists into an expression that could just barely be called human. Her fingernails dig into her palms, her knuckles are white. Blood seeps under her nails, a morbid version of the french manicures she often has. She is eager to wrap her fingers around the young man before her. The store employee stares in horror. She snaps and snarls, beside her stands her daughter, her eyes firmly locked onto the floor, her face flushed with embarrassment. The woman demands to speak to the manager, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Her gaze is locked onto her phone screen. She scrolls from picture to picture, hungrily staring at what passes by. 'Most expensive houses', she reads. She examines the pictures. A shower with gemstones in the tile, kitchen counters made of rare stones. Whoever had it didn't deserve it, she decides. She should have this, not some halfwit. She deserves it, of course she does! She glances out her window, looking through the window of the house across the street. The people living there had a beautiful dog, despite always being at work, or otherwise out of the house. Why should a family like that have it, and not she?

His words flow like honey from his lips, he smiles as he steals what does not belong to him. With a lie referencing implications of agreement, he takes permission after the act is done. He does not deserve love, but with a grin and convincing compliments, he takes warmth from a girl's heart. It is only after he took from her what he wanted that he vanished. Friendships were formed, lasting until the other party had nothing left to offer. He was a leech, sucking what he could from the host, latching on with sweet words and sharp teeth.

He is breathing heavily. He is a dog after a run, sweaty, mouth open. The person sitting besides him flushes and squirms uncomfortably, the way he is panting is almost obscene. He does not take notice of the one at his side, nor of the others around him. His gaze is locked, like a pitbull's jaw, on a woman leaning against the pole of the bus stop sign. She knows she is being stared at, she is tense, uncomfortable. She reaches to pull her skirt lower on her thighs. The man's eyes follow her movements, his tongue flicks out of his mouth to wet his lips. He falters as his sight is obstructed. A person has placed themselves in between the lady and the man. There is a collective relaxation in the people waiting for a bus.

Cupboards spill with food, some new, some expired long ago. It mingles, mould infects fresh produce. She does not notice. She picked up a woven basket on the street. It now lays in a closet, forgotten underneath more recent findings. Inches of ribbon, glass jars, a Pepsi can. Torn blankets are recycled into teddy bears, to lay untouched in a corner. Her eyes are bigger than her stomach, bigger than her house. She needs more. She moves house. She thinks she may have lost a cat under all her belongings. She will not know until she smells it. She goes to yard sales, she eats friends' leftovers, nothing can go to waste, nothing! She is the protector of forgotten items. She has forgotten her own sanity in her race to collect.

His talents are flaunted. Hand eye coordination, a level 245 warrior, an ability to drink a dozen energy drinks in a night. He has no need for employment. His skin is a pasty, unhealthy white. He jokes of vampires. His headset has caused a dip in his hair. His chair takes his shape, he rarely gets off of it, unless to fetch food. Parents urge him to go for a walk, he sneers. They have stopped asking. He yells obscene terms into his headset. His virtual team scores. His body is exercises for the first time in months as he cheers and jumps up. Blood rushes to his unused muscles, his head feels light. He drops back on his seat, reaching for a handful of potato chips.

 

You have just met the seven sins.

 


End file.
